


Iron and Magnets

by theshizniiit



Category: Common Law
Genre: Iron Man AU, M/M, Pepper!Wes, Tony!Travis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-24 22:49:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2599403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theshizniiit/pseuds/theshizniiit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>But somewhere, in some cave that is barely 15 feet wide, Travis Marks has a 2 inch hole in his chest with an electromagnet keeping shards of shrapnel from piercing his heart and killing him-</em><br/>-he is very much alive.<br/>And he’s still very much the mischievous boy wonder that the world says he is.<br/>Travis pulls the beginnings of an arc reactor from the scraps of metal he’s been given, replacing the dirty and old electromagnet in his chest with his own glowing blue tech.<br/>Travis Marks is still a genius.<br/>And he’s still alive.<br/>And he has something game-changing up his sleeve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Iron and Magnets

> **Excerpt** **from Wired Magazine Issue #2345**
> 
> **Exclusive in-depth scoop on America’s most prominent genius and billionaire, Travis Marks.**
> 
> _Visionary._
> 
> _Genius._
> 
> _Patriot._
> 
> _If you’ve ever used any electronic on the planet earth, from a smartphone to a phantom computer server or any network security device or hacking gadget along with advanced robotics and satellite targeting, chances are you’ve heard the name Travis Marks: the foster child born, abandoned and raised in LA before being discovered by none other than Mike Sutton, CEO of Sutton Industries. However, the boy quickly stole the spotlight with his incredibly unique and brilliant mind. Graduating from M.I.T at the age of 15, he entered in an apprenticeship under Sutton, and now happens to be the CEO and mastermind behind world’s leading tech and weapons company._
> 
> _Now, with the keys to the kingdom that is the world’s most advanced tech company, he ushers in a new era of efficiency—a far cry from the boy who was bounced from home to home in downtown LA._
> 
> _He’s one of the richest men in America, not to mention the fact that Sutton Industries—now aptly renamed Marks Industries after it’s new CEO—is thriving on the designs from the genius mind of Travis Marks himself_.
> 
> _Today Marks has changed the face of the weapons and tech industry, ensuring freedom and justice for America and her interests around the globe._
> 
> _The genius playboy—though extremely eccentric and seen as a mischievous boy wonder to the various governments who have their eye on him—has the entire world wrapped around his finger._
> 
> _And now, from being a genius orphan to being a genius who’s name is known from coast to coast—it’s no secret that the world is a lock and Travis Marks has the key._

Wes snorts, “Boy wonder. More like a pain in my ass.” he scoffs, closing the magazine and picking up his tablet, smoothing the wrinkles on his expensive suit as he stands, picking up the remote and and turning on the obscenely large flat screen that takes up most of the wall. Perfectly manicured fingers flip to the news before the blond heads out of the room.

Not many people have been in the Marks mansion. Not many people have seen the intricate technology of the house, or the luxury of it. The flat screen TV’s, the enormous kitchens and bedrooms all decked out with the newest and most comfortable pleasures along with an interactive computer running the house, willing to attend to your every need. It would seem like a wonderful dream for most, but that is the reality of the mansion. It is everything anyone could want, all wrapped up in one house. And as reckless as Travis may be, he keeps his home private. Therefore, not many have seen it. Wes is one of the few that have. But as Travis’ assistant (that’s his official title, even though Wes is sure that Travis Marks couldn’t survive without him, the man doesn’t even know his own social security number, for christ’ sake.) he lives in the mansion too, and basically keeps the man alive. **  
**

It’s not a bad job. Not all all. No matter how infuriating the genius himself may be.

And Wes is reminded just how infuriating Travis is when he comes across a woman wearing one of Travis’ button up shirts attempting to fiddle with a clear number pad on the wall and gain access to one of the restricted areas of the house, before a disembodied voice tells her that she cannot enter due to—well—the area being restricted. 

Wes clears his throat as the woman looks up at the ceiling, trying to locate the voice and jumping about 4 feet in the air when she hears Wes behind her.

"That’s P.E.A.K.M.A.N," Wes drawls, eyes narrowing at the woman but trying to keep his vocal tone pleasant, "He runs the house."

Wes looks at his pad and types a quick angry message to Travis before looking up at the blond woman, “If you have spent the night here your clothes have most likely been dry cleaned and pressed. They are in the laundry room to your left. There is a car waiting for you outside to take you wherever you want to go.”

Recognition dawns in the woman’s eyes, “You must be the famous Wes Mitchell,” she says smugly, a haughty look on her face as she flips her hair.

"Indeed I am." Wes bristles.

"All these years and Travis still has you handling the dry cleaning, huh?" She sneers, her pretty face twisted into a smug expression.

Wes smiles slowly, “I do anything and everything that Mr. Marks requires.” He says in a mocking and sickeningly sweet tone, “Including occasionally taking out the  _trash._ " He smiles, gesturing to her.

"Your cab is waiting for you downstairs whenever you want to actually get dressed and do something with your day other than just being another notch in Mr. Marks bedpost." His eyes narrow at her once more, "If you linger the authorities  _will_  be called.”

Her smug smile drops and her face takes on an interesting red hue as Wes walks away, smirking to himself.

***

Ten minutes later—after checking the company stocks and making sure everything is order—Wes finds himself on the stairs descending into Travis’ workshop trying to ignore whatever loud rock music Travis has playing. He spots the man behind the clear glass door—bobbing his head along to the music, wearing a rumpled AC/DC t-shirt that’s as stained with grease as his brown skin is as he fixes one of the overly expensive cars that Wes assured Travis that he  _didn’t need_  while Travis assured him that he  _very much did-_ -and he punches his ID into the keypad and manually lowers the volume of the music on his way in. Like he always does.

Travis sighs dramatically but doesn’t turn around, “Don’t lower my music, I hate it when you do that, man.” Travis turns to the screen next to him, and Wes can see that it has a virtual 3D render of the same engine that Travis is tinkering with, and he rolls his eyes, tapping on polished shoe on the ground as he checks his pad. He pulls up Travis’ schedule and makes a disapproving noise as he flips through what’s planned for Travis that day.

"Uh oh," Travis smirks, taking apart a piece of the engine and replacing it with another, "My Wes is unhappy."

"Do you know why I’m unhappy, Travis?" Wes snaps.

"No," Travis says distractedly, still tinkering with the engine, "But I’m sure you’ll tell me-"

"Because not only did I come across another one of your  _conquests_  from last night in the living room this morning, but you’re also supposed to be halfway around the world right now, remember?”

"What conquest?" Travis mutters, wiping a hand across his shirt, smearing more oil on it.

"You don’t even remember the woman you slept with last night?" Wes says throwing his hands up in exasperation.

"To be fair, I don’t even remember what I had for breakfast this morning." Travis says, reaching for a wrench.

 _"Gluten-free waffles, sir."_  P.E.A.K.M.A.N offers helpfully.

"Oh yeah." Travis says, smiling and looking up at the ceiling, "Thanks buddy."

_"No problem, sir."_

"Whatever," Wes snips, "You’re supposed to be on a plane right now, Travis! Your flight was scheduled to leave an hour and a half ago!"

"Ya know," Travis starts, finally turning to look at Wes, "I figured since it was, in fact,  _my_  plane it would just, you know, wait for me to get there.” he deadpans, placing the engine back in the car and standing up, “I mean, what’s the point of having your own plane if it just departs before you arrive-“

"Time doesn’t wait for anyone Travis, not even you."

"Why’re you trying to get me out of here so quickly, huh?" Travis pouts, "You have plans or something?"

"As a matter of fact I do." Wes says, pushing Travis out of the door of the workshop, punching in the code to lock the doors.

"Aw. Baby, I don’t like it when you have plans."

"I’m allowed to have plans on my birthday."

"It’s your birthday?" Travis says, a sheepish expression making it’s way onto his face, "Forgot. Sorry."

Wes could laugh. If people saw one of the world’s biggest geniuses looking like a kid being scolded, standing in too baggy jeans and a too big AC/DC t-shirt, covered in oil and apologizing for forgetting someones birthday, they’d be shocked. Fortunately, Wes deals with this sort of thing from Travis all the time, and he just finds it somewhat funny.

The blond smirks,”Oh please Travis, you forget your  _own_  birthday.”

"That was once!"

"You’ve forgotten your birthday for the last 12 years." Wes smirks.

"Oh…" Travis says, "Well, get yourself a gift—something nice—on me. Send me the bill."

"I already did."

"Oh good. And is it nice?" Travis says voice low as he steps closer to Wes.

"It’s very nice." Wes smiles, "Now go get ready, you have a plane to catch and all your arrogance and genius won’t stop you from being late." he says as he shoos Travis away.

The brown skinned man laughs and does what he’s told. Wes’ smile widens.

***

In the end, Travis makes the plane and he gives his presentation on the sands of Afghanistan.

He doesn’t make it back.

Wes learns about the kidnapping from a vague phone call during the night and then from the garish hostage video delivered to the mansion the following morning.

Every headline has the words ‘billionaire’, ‘genius’, ‘Travis Marks’, and ‘hostage’, and then as time goes on, and no more word of negotiations is heard, Wes starts seeing the words, ‘presumed dead’.

And the pit in his stomach gets deeper and more hollowed out by despair.

But somewhere, in some cave that is barely 15 feet wide, Travis Marks has a 2 inch hole in his chest with an electromagnet keeping shards of shrapnel from piercing his heart and killing him-

-he is very much alive.

And he’s still very much the mischievous boy wonder that the world says he is.

Travis pulls the beginnings of an arc reactor from the scraps of metal he’s been given, replacing the dirty and old electromagnet in his chest with his own glowing blue tech.

Travis Marks is still a genius.

And he’s still alive.

And he has something game-changing up his sleeve.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how i come up with these ideas jfc


End file.
